


I Loved You First (I have to go)

by LeapAngstily



Series: Search the Ground (for a bitter song) [4]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Ambiguous feels, Angst, Break Up, Divorce, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Monto has issues, Nonlinear Narrative, communication problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaká left Milan without having a chance to properly explain his decision to Riccardo. One broken leg, one World Cup, and one divorce later, they still have to face the questions neither of them was willing to bring up when they should have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Loved You First (I have to go)

**Author's Note:**

> The final part for my Kaká/Monto ~~epic romance~~ series that was originally not supposed to go further than that first oneshot. You can blame my roommate for this, okay?
> 
> I suggest you read at least the previous two parts in the series before this one, or this probably won’t make much sense to you.
> 
> The “main story” is set about half a year after the previous part, sometime during the few days between Milan’s last league game and Christmas Eve. The title, as always, comes from Regina Spektor’s _Samson_.

_You have 2 new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“Riccardo, it’s me. I just heard of your injury. I guess you’re still in the hospital? Give me a call when you can, please?”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have 1 new voicemail message.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“Me again. Are you okay? I heard you talked to Galliani, so you must have your phone. Call me?”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have no new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages._  
  
  
  
Kaká still remembers Riccardo’s address by heart as he climbs into the taxi at the airport. He thinks the realization should be more alarming than it actually is, but he has no energy to care, not after the long flight over the Atlantic.  
  
He is wearing glasses and his scarf is pulled up to cover half of his face in hopes of hiding his identity from the driver, and still Kaká feels like the man behind the wheel is staring at him.  
  
“A rough flight, sir? Hoping to catch some sleep soon, I bet,” fortunately, the man does not say anything to reveal he has recognized Kaká.  
  
The digital clock on the dashboard shows 5:34 in the morning. Riccardo is probably still sleeping – just like Kaká should be – but this might be the only time of the day when he can catch Riccardo off-guard.  
  
“I sure do,” Kaká replies with a half-hearted smile, meeting the cabbie’s eyes through the rear-view mirror before focusing on the quickly changing scenery outside, mumbling to himself, “If only it was that easy.”  
  
Riccardo should be home – Kaká had checked first from Pippo and then again from Pazzini to make sure he would not be making a wasted effort by coming to Milan – but there is no guarantee he is going to welcome Kaká into his apartment just like that.  
  
It has been over half a year since Kaká last saw Riccardo, back during the inauguration of Casa Milan, before Riccardo left for the national team’s training camp and Kaká flew to Brazil with his family.  
  
The memory of that last morning in Milanello before the inauguration is still vivid enough to bring a blush on Kaká’s cheeks, fortunately hidden by the darkness inside the cab.  
  
For a moment there, he had truly believed they could be something with Riccardo. Something more than loveless fuckbuddies clinging to each other because neither of them could have what they truly wanted.  
  
How wrong he had been.  
  
He recognizes Riccardo’s neighbourhood immediately: a nice area a little off the downtown Milan, but still lively enough that you can see people at any time of the day.  
  
Colourful Christmas lights are lighting up the whole district. It reminds Kaká of the Christmas a year before that he had spent there with Riccardo – at least before he fucked everything up and Riccardo kicked him out. He never apologized for that one.  
  
“You can drop me off here, I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he tells the driver softly. He needs a moment to clear off his head before he faces Riccardo.  
  
He pays for the ride and tells the cabbie to keep the rest – a little tip for not recognizing him (or at least not mentioning it) – and then he slips out of the taxi, throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder as he starts walking towards Riccardo’s apartment building.  
  
He is nervous, but at the same time he can feel a small flutter of excitement in his chest. Dear God, he really has missed Riccardo.  
  
  
  
 _You have 3 new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“Hi, it’s me. Again. We just got back from the opening match. It must be midnight in Italy by now, right? I’ll call you again in the morning. I’m sorry you can’t be here.”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have 2 new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“Seriously, you have no idea how much I wish you were here. You probably won’t believe it even if I tell you. But I wanted it to be you. Not Cris, not even Carol. I wanted to share this with you. I just wanted to let you know. I’ll call you later, okay?”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have 1 new voicemail message.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“You really have no intention of returning my calls, do you? It’s not my fault you got injured. Why don’t you just let me help you? Please?”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have no new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages._  
  
  
  
He has to ring the doorbell six times before he can hear footsteps from inside the apartment, and then there is a muffled sound of Riccardo grumbling to himself before the door is pushed open.  
  
Kaká had a whole speech planned for the moment he met Riccardo. However, actually seeing him, standing in the doorway clad only in black boxer briefs and a wrinkled t-shirt – Kaká recognizes the shirt, it is from the previous year’s AC Milan collection – makes all his well-planned words fly out of his mind.  
  
“Hi,” is all he manages to say, a small but hopeful smile tugging on his lips as he takes in the sight of the very-obviously-just-woken-up Riccardo, before the door is slammed shut into his face.  
  
“Oh c’mon, you gotta be kidding me!” Kaká tries to keep his voice down in order not to wake up the entire building, even as he starts knocking on the door hard to let Riccardo know he is not going to give up this easily, “It’s 6 am – you can’t just leave me out here!”  
  
There is no answer and the door stays shut, but Kaká cannot hear steps walking away from the door, so there must be a chance Riccardo is still listening to him.  
  
“I’m sorry for coming here unannounced,” he tries to soften his tone, halting his knocking and just leaning his forehead against the door, “But Pazzini called me. He said you weren’t well, and you’re still not returning my calls, so I had no choice. I had to see you, Riccardo.”  
  
To say Kaká had been surprised to receive a call from his former teammate would have been an understatement of the year.  
  
He and Pazzini got along fine enough back when they were playing together, but Kaká’s complicated relationship with Riccardo had always somewhat strained his relations with the captain’s friends – especially Pazzini, for the obvious reasons.  
  
 _”I don’t know what happened between you and Monto, but obviously you managed to reach something in him that even I can’t find. At times he actually seemed happy when he was with you. Now that’s all gone, ever since you left.”_  
  
To hear it from someone else – and not just anybody, but from the object of Riccardo’s unrequited love  _and_  his closest friend – had brought back Kaká’s own doubts and the wishes he had long since given up on.  
  
Before everything went south, Kaká had thought Riccardo may have finally changed, started looking at Kaká as someone he could actually care about, maybe even love. But then came the silence, the unreturned calls, the distance between them that seemed to grow with each passing day.  
  
And then Kaká had left.  
  
  
  
 _You have 1 new voicemail message.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“It’s me, Kaká. But you knew that, didn’t you? Otherwise you’d have answered. Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving. I wasn’t sure myself back then. Carol wants to move back to Brazil with the kids, so I need to go with them. We’ll be staying in São Paulo for the time being, and then we’re gonna decide what to do from there. I’m so sorry, Riccardo. Please, call me? I’m worried about you.”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have no new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages._  
  
  
  
Riccardo does not open the door, and Kaká is afraid someone else might hear him if he keeps talking out there. What if someone found out about them? It would destroy both their careers.  
  
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Riccardo’s number. He can hear Riccardo’s ringtone through the door, which must mean he has the phone with him in the lobby. Riccardo is not picking up, though, and after a minute Kaká is answered with the all-too-familiar voicemail.  
  
“Please open the door, Riccardo. I’m not leaving before you talk to me,” Kaká keeps his voice low, weighing every word on his tongue before he actually says them out loud, “You don’t want to have anything to do with me, I get it. But can you at least tell it to my face? Let’s just talk, like adults, and then I’ll leave if you want me to.”  
  
He considers adding something more – maybe tell Riccardo he has missed him, admit he has not been able to stop thinking about him – but in the end he just repeats softly, “Please?”  
  
He hangs up and waits, leaning on the wall across from Riccardo’s door. There is nothing more he can do now but wait and hope no one comes to kick him out of the corridor before Riccardo makes up his mind.  
  
He would not even mind being kicked out as long as it was Riccardo doing it – a proper closure for them, even if it was not the kind Kaká was hoping for.  
  
Actually, Kaká is not exactly sure what it is that he wants from Riccardo.  
  
It had been simple enough back when Cris was still involved: Kaká had been taking an advantage of Riccardo in the same way Riccardo was using him to forget about Pazzini. But Kaká and Cris had had their closure, and Riccardo had not gone anywhere.  
  
Kaká had chosen Riccardo over Cris – a choice he had thought he would never be able make – but Riccardo had always kept him at arm’s length, unwilling to let him into his life.  
  
When their relationship had come to its abrupt end, Kaká had thought it would be easy to let go – certainly much easier than it had been to get over Cris – which is why he had been so surprised to realize Riccardo still kept occupying his mind more often than not.  
  
Riccardo may not have been the original reason why Kaká’s marriage had started crumbling, but Kaká’s inability to forget about him had definitely played a part in the final decision to get a divorce.  
  
His thoughts are interrupted when he hears the lock turning, and then Riccardo pushes the door open again, pointedly refusing to meet Kaká’s eyes as he moves out of the way to let him in.  
  
Kaká does not dare to say anything either, afraid Riccardo might change his mind again, so he just walks through the door and waits patiently until he can hear the door closing behind him.  
  
Then he turns around to face Riccardo, to meet the angry blue eyes – except it is not real anger, more like cold resignation, like Riccardo has been angry for so long that there is no fire left in him anymore.  
  
Seeing it breaks Kaká’s heart.  
  
  
  
 _You have 2 new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“It’s me. I don’t know if you’ve heard already, but we’re divorcing. Carol moved out with the kids today. You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’ll still get to meet the kids whenever I want to. I just— I just needed to hear your voice. I know it sounds silly, after all that’s happened, but I miss you. I miss you, Riccardo.”  
  
You have 1 new voicemail message.  
You have 1 saved voicemail message.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“Forget what I said in the last message, will you? I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m fine now. So— bye.”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have no new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages._  
  
  
  
“You left,” much to Kaká’s surprise, it is Riccardo who breaks the silence, “I asked you not to leave – it was the only thing I ever asked of you – and you still left right when I needed you the most.”  
  
His voice is level, the words laced with the same cold indifference Kaká can see in his eyes. He does not sound like he is accusing Kaká of anything, despite the words that hit Kaká much harder than any insult Riccardo has ever thrown at him. He is just stating the facts.  
  
“I had no choice,” Kaká still feels the need to explain himself, even though Riccardo must know all of this, “I needed to do it to save my marriage.”  
  
“See how well that went, huh?” Riccardo lets out a humourless chuckle as he walks past Kaká and into the living room, “But I’m not blaming you – you love your children, there’s nothing wrong with that. I’d be a horrible person if I expected you to abandon your family without even giving it a try.”  
  
“Then why didn’t you return my calls?” Kaká asks, his tone much sharper than he actually intended, because this is what has been bothering him all along, “Not even after my divorce? You just cut me off right when we were starting to form some kind of a connection, before my transfer was even in the talks!”  
  
“Of course it was in the talks! It was in your fucking contract from the get-go!” Riccardo snaps back at him immediately, spinning on his heels to meet Kaká’s eyes again, “I’m not stupid, Ricky. I knew you were leaving. Why the fuck would I put myself in a situation like that willingly?”  
  
The way ‘Ricky’ slips from Riccardo’s lips without any consideration, like it was a natural instinct, makes Kaká’s heart swell exactly like it did when Riccardo first called him that.  
  
“I didn’t want to leave you,” he admits quietly, the honest truth of what was going through his mind when he first started considering the move away from Milan, “I wanted to talk to you before I had to make the final choice, but I couldn’t. You didn’t let me – you just made the decision for me.”  
  
Kaká takes a step closer to Riccardo, then a second and a third, until he is close enough to reach out and touch him. He does not touch, though, because Riccardo is hugging himself as if trying to build a barrier between them, his fingers digging tightly into his bare arms.  
  
“I was terrified,” Riccardo whispers, and Kaká realizes right then that this might be the most honest discussion they have ever had, “I’d never meant to let you so close. I knew you were leaving sooner or later, and I knew the deeper I fell, the more it would hurt. It scared me.”  
  
Kaká remembers how much it had hurt to leave Cris behind when he left Madrid – and that had been back when their relationship had already run its natural course.  
  
With Riccardo, they had just started getting to know each other, just started falling for each other. Kaká can see why it would be scary for Riccardo, whose first instinct has always been that of self-preservation.  
  
Riccardo had chosen Kaká because he had thought he could never fall for him.  
  
Kaká had chosen Riccardo because he had seen Riccardo was wrong – that Riccardo needed him much more than he needed Riccardo.  
  
“It is scary, isn’t it? Falling in love,” he finally replies, speaking deliberately slowly, letting every word sink into Riccardo’s mind before continuing, “But running away from it won’t make it go away. Or are you seriously trying to tell me I’m the only one who’s spent the past half a year pining over you?”  
  
Riccardo is staring into his eyes as he listens intently, his expression changing from fear to confusion and then to realization, maybe even acceptance. Kaká can see he is biting his lips together to keep them from trembling.  
  
“My heart never left you, Riccardo,” Kaká concludes softly, and finally he has gathered enough courage to lift his hand and caress Riccardo’s face, running his thumb over the chapped lips before resting his palm against the pale cheek, “And now I’d like to kiss you, if you don’t mind?”  
  
Riccardo snorts at the sudden request, probably more out of surprise than actual amusement. His eyes are laughing as he retorts, “You never asked for permission before.”  
  
“I never knew how much it meant before now,” Kaká answers with a smile of his own, but then he leans in to brush their lips together without waiting for another confirmation.  
  
Riccardo hesitates for a moment, but then he parts his lips and returns the kiss carefully. It is a complete opposite of what their encounters used to be: just lips on lips, no need to hurry, no need to dominate, no need to control.  
  
For a second, everything feels like a dream.  
  
For a second, Kaká thinks maybe the long wait had been worth all this.  
  
  
  
 _You have 1 new voicemail message.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“Hey, it’s Kaká. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I watched you play today, on the TV. I’m happy you’re back, the team looked lost without you. You looked good. I always thought you were beautiful when you were on the pitch. At least that hasn’t changed, huh? I’m sorry it turned out this way, Riccardo. I really am.”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have no new voicemail messages.  
You have no saved voicemail messages._  
  
  
  
They drag the kiss on for what feels like an eternity, neither of them trying to take things any further but also unwilling to pull away. Kaká’s hands do not stray from Riccardo’s face, while Riccardo’s stay at his sides, like unsure if he is allowed to touch.  
  
Riccardo takes a staggering breath when their lips finally pull apart, their faces still close enough for their noses to brush against each other. His eyes are closed, hiding him from the reality.  
  
“Look at me,” Kaká pleads in a whisper, stroking Riccardo’s cheekbone with his thumb, “Please, Riccardo, just look at me.”  
  
They never used to look at each other when they we together, because they were afraid it would be someone else they were seeing. But now Kaká needs to know – he needs Riccardo to see him and only him, like he sees Riccardo.  
  
The blue eyes flutter open, almost too close for Kaká to actually see them.  
  
“So, what now?” Riccardo asks him, lifting one of his hands to Kaká arm carefully, just tips of his fingers brushing against the sleeve of his jacket, “You wanna give me a grand speech of how the  _true love_  can beat the long distance? Because if that’s what—”  
  
Kaká interrupts the undoubtedly sarcastic comment by kissing him again, this time caressing Riccardo’s lips with his tongue until he is granted entrance, Riccardo’s tongue meeting his immediately, the kiss deepening slowly, much more intimate than what they have ever experienced.  
  
“Shut up,” Kaká tells him gently when they break the kiss, smiling against Riccardo’s lips when the captain obviously bites back a scathing retort, “I’ve got you now. Can’t you just stop thinking for a while and enjoy the moment?”  
  
“I might enjoy it more if you were to take me back to bed,” Riccardo’s tone is teasing and the suggestion more than enough to remind Kaká that they have always been better at expressing themselves physically, “You  _did_  interrupt my beauty sleep, after all.”  
  
“I’m sure you’re pretty enough to miss out a few hours,” Kaká tells him with a wry smile, but he pulls away from Riccardo with one last chaste kiss anyways. He starts walking towards the bedroom door, throwing a pointed look at Riccardo when he is too slow to follow.  
  
Kaká takes his chance to pull off the jacket he has been wearing since he arrived in Italy. He removes his t-shirt right after, looking over his shoulder at Riccardo who has stopped at the doorway, his eyes following Kaká’s every move curiously.  
  
“C’mon, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Kaká tries to tease Riccardo as he opens the fly of his jeans and pushes them off too, except his voice breaks in the middle of the sentence when he sees Riccardo looking down at his now only boxer-clad backside.  
  
Okay, so maybe all those previous times do not quite count with them.  
  
“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful, too?” Riccardo’s whisper is almost inaudible, but it still makes a faint blush rise on Kaká’s cheeks – no, Riccardo has never complimented him before, he is certain of it.  
  
“Come here,” he tells Riccardo instead of answering him outright, walking to the bed and sitting down on the edge, kicking off his boxers in the process.  
  
He is already half-hard just from Riccardo’s eyes on him, but there is no reason to feel embarrassed about it, because he can also see the shape of Riccardo’s erection through his underwear as he walks over to him slowly.  
  
Kaká takes a hold of Riccardo’s waist as soon as he is close enough, pulling him closer until Riccardo is straddling his thighs, his chest pressed flush against Kaká’s.  
  
They seek out each others lips at the same time, their noses bumping together before they find what they are looking for, the following kiss gentle and hungry at the same time.  
  
Kaká can feel Riccardo’s body shivering against his when he pushes his hands under the hem of his shirt, cool fingers meeting warm skin of his abdomen.  
  
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he mumbles against Riccardo’s lips and then pulls back just long enough that he can pull the shirt over Riccardo’s head. Riccardo lifts his arms obediently, settling them back down on Kaká’s shoulders once the shirt is thrown to side.  
  
The skin-on-skin contact reminds Kaká of how much he has missed this – sex was always the easy part, it was what kept them coming back for more even before they knew what was happening between them.  
  
He takes a firmer hold on Riccardo’s hips and turns him around, pushes him down to the bed, following the movement until he is kneeling between Riccardo’s legs, leaning over his body possessively, their lips only inches apart.  
  
“Let me have you,” he tells Riccardo, looking down at him intently, pushing one of his hands into his boxers, enjoying how Riccardo’s breath hitches when he wraps his fingers around the growing erection, “All of you. Even the parts no one’s ever seen before.”  
  
Riccardo does not reply in words. Instead, he wraps his arms around Kaká’s neck and pulls him down into an open-mouthed kiss that holds all the answers he could possibly need. He already has Riccardo – he has had him for a long time, they just never realized it.  
  
Kaká presses his fingers against the tip of Riccardo’s cock between his steady strokes, and Riccardo gasps against his lips, the soft whine that might have escaped his throat swallowed into the kiss.  
  
“Where’s the lube?” Kaká asks in a low voice, but moves down Riccardo’s body before he can get an answer, kissing his way down the heaving chest and the flat stomach. He pushes the boxers down as Riccardo scoots back on the bed, reaching for the nightstand drawer to retrieve the lube and condoms – it is the same place as always, and Kaká feels almost silly for even asking.  
  
He has never given Riccardo a blowjob – it was always the other way around, Riccardo making sure they did not linger on the foreplay any longer than necessary – but now it feels natural to lean down and lick the underside of Riccardo’s cock.  
  
Riccardo bucks up against his mouth immediately, no sound aside from a surprised gasp escaping his lips, but his hands caressing Kaká’s hair are urging him to go on.  
  
Kaká licks the length a couple of times before he turns his attention to the sensitive tip, actually drawing a soft moan from Riccardo as circles the heated flesh with his tongue.  
  
Riccardo is obviously making an effort not to pull on his hair. It feels different, unfamiliar, and Kaká is not quite sure he likes it. With Riccardo, they have never had to worry about being too rough with each other, not because they wanted to hurt each other, but because it was the way they both liked it.  
  
“You won’t hurt me,” he says out loud, blowing softly towards Riccardo’s tip, a smile tugging on his lips when Riccardo bucks his hips up for more contact, “You never hurt me before, so there’s no need to be careful with me now.”  
  
And when he takes Riccardo into his mouth, he can feel the familiar tug on his hair, long fingers pulling on his scalp to guide him but not really forcing his movements. It is a small thing, but it makes Kaká’s cock grow even harder in return.  
  
The lube is waiting on the mattress, and Kaká picks it up and opens the cap with one hand, the movements in his muscle memory by now. He does not pay attention to the mess he is making even as half of the lotion he pours on his fingers ends up on the sheets instead.  
  
He pushes only one finger through Riccardo’s entrance first – he has no idea how long it has been since Riccardo last did this with anyone, after all – which makes Riccardo groan out exasperatedly, “Now who’s being careful?”  
  
Kaká answers by inserting another finger, sucking on the tip of Riccardo’s cock a bit harder to distract him when he can feel Riccardo’s body resisting the intrusion.  
  
Riccardo squirms under him, like trying to push back against his fingers and into his mouth at the same time, letting out a frustrated sound when he fails at both. That sound turns into a breathy moan when Kaká’s fingers brush against his prostate.  
  
“More,” Riccardo demands, his voice thick with arousal, and he obviously has to concentrate to keep his words intelligible, “Please, Ricky? I can take it, you know I can.”  
  
Kaká really has no choice but to obey him: he pulls his fingers out and sits up, looking down at Riccardo’s trembling body. He picks up a condom and rips open the wrapping, stroking his own cock a few times to make sure he is fully hard – he is, of course he is – before he rolls the condom over his length.  
  
“Sit up,” he orders Riccardo quietly. They have always done this from behind, because that was easier, that way they did not have to look at each other. But this time is different, this time he needs to see Riccardo, “Look at me. Never stop looking at me.”  
  
Riccardo follows the instructions by straddling Kaká again, positioning himself over his erection, taking the control of the situation. He meets Kaká’s eyes squarely – they are dark with lust, but also clear, certain – and then he rocks his hips down to take Kaká fully inside him in one swift move.  
  
Kaká is seeing stars, and despite his earlier words, he cannot keep his eyes from fluttering shut.  
  
Riccardo feels impossibly tight, his insides clenching around his cock almost painfully. It cannot be comfortable for him, but Riccardo’s loud groan right next to his ear reminds Kaká that this is what they need – something to hold on to, something to make it real.  
  
Riccardo is rolling his hips slowly, not lifting himself off completely, holding Kaká inside him, deliberately tightening his muscles around his cock to create more friction. It is intense, intimate, and far too soon Kaká can feel his orgasm approaching.  
  
Riccardo leans back in his lap right at that moment, both hands caressing the back of Kaká’s neck, “Look at me, Ricky.”  
  
And Kaká does, meeting Riccardo’s beautiful eyes, taking in the whole sight in his lap, and then Riccardo is kissing him hard, teeth grazing Kaká’s bottom lip and fingers tangled in his hair, the movements of his hips halting as Kaká wraps his arms tightly around his waist to hold him close and never let go.  
  
They come like that, Kaká buried deep inside Riccardo and Riccardo’s seed seeping between their bellies, the kiss ending only long after their release.  
  
“So, what now?” Riccardo repeats his earlier question once they are lying on the tangled sheets facing each other, almost a mirror image of that first time Kaká kissed Riccardo on this same bed.  
  
“I don’t know,” Kaká admits, reaching out to push a stray curl away from Riccardo’s face, “I’m flying back to Brazil tomorrow to spend the Christmas with my children. We’ll have the winter break training camps, too, before the matches start in January. And then I’m moving to the US when the MLS season kicks off. It’ll be busy time for both of us.”  
  
“So you’re saying a long distance relationship could never work? That we’re just gonna keep living the same way we’ve been doing until now?”  
  
“Well, you answering my calls would be a nice improvement,” Kaká offers with a half-shrug, his fingers now caressing the shell of Riccardo’s ear, “I can’t promise to be your boyfriend – not a very good one, anyways – but we could keep in touch, and then maybe we could visit each other whenever the schedules allow it.”  
  
“That’s not very often,” Riccardo notes needlessly, but he is smiling now, a secret little smile Kaká has never seen before. He decides he likes it.  
  
“But you could do it?”  
  
“Yeah, maybe I could.”  
  
They have come a long way from those first touches, first kisses, first lies. Kaká knows there will be an even longer way to go before they will be truly done with each other – if such a time will ever come.  
  
Kaká leans in to kiss Riccardo, to close the deal, and Riccardo returns the kiss right away.  
  
  
  
 _You have 1 new voicemail message.  
You have no saved voicemail messages.  
  
Press 1 to listen.  
  
“I know you probably won’t return this call either, since I just left your place. I just wanted to let you know you’re not alone: whenever you need me, just call me and I’ll fly to you right away. Or at least I’ll try to – you know how the league schedules are. But I know you’ll be fine, because you’re strong. If you ever forget that, just remember I’ll be always cheering for you from the other side of the world. Remember that I love you. I’ll call you again once I’m back in Brazil – and you better pick up this time, okay?”  
  
Press 2 to listen again. Press 3 to save. Press 4 to delete.  
  
You have no new voicemail messages.  
You have 1 saved voicemail message._

**Author's Note:**

> \- I’ve become almost ridiculously emotionally invested with this series. The first part that I wrote last Christmas was my first fic after a looooong break from writing. I’ve come a long way since then, and so has this story. It’s almost sad it has now come to an end.
> 
> \- There’s this really good line in Regina Spektor’s _Samson_ that I wanted to use as a title in this series, but in the end I couldn’t think up a proper way to make it work. So I’m putting it here instead: _“The history books forgot about us and the Bible didn’t mention us, not even once.”_ I felt like it fit this whole love story perfectly, especially with the reference to the Bible (re: the contrast of Kaká being Christian and Monto being atheist). I just really love this song, okay?
> 
> \- There’s one thing I intended to bring up in the previous part already but forgot: their names. So I know both of them are called “Ricky” by certain people. I’m using Ricky (Kaká) and Riccardo (Monto) mostly to keep things clear. That’s not to say they couldn’t call each other by the same name – my close friend has the same name as me and we don’t need any nicknames to distinguish us when talking to each other – it’s just easier to write it like this. In addition, I remember seeing an interview where Monto calls Kaká “Ricky”, so that’s basically canon. I’ve also heard Monto’s wife and some teammates (both Milan and Italy) calling him “Riccardo”, so I’m assuming that’s what people call him most of the time (aside from “Monto”). But what do I know, I’m just a writer.
> 
> \- I’m continuing with the [December Giveaway](http://montosmadman.tumblr.com/post/104190423597) fics probably on Monday, after I finish my last paper for the semester (and for my whole degree *throws confetti*). Feel free to come and drop me a prompt if you have any acute fic needs – I have two more wishes to fill before Christmas, and I’ll keep doing this until the end of the year if I get more of them!
> 
> \- Comments would be lovely!


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